Buried Beneath
by flower gettin' lady
Summary: While on the sub heading to the TARDIS, Clara is attacked by one of the crew members and the Doctor steps in to save her. Based on a prompt from whoufflelibrary. Clara/Eleven, twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: While on the sub heading to the TARDIS, Clara is attacked by one of the crew members and the Doctor steps in to save her. Based on a prompt from whoufflelibrary (a **_**fantastic**_** tumble account, in case you didn't already know). **

It got boring very quickly on a sub, Clara finds. Most of the crew is dead (and their bodies haunt her during those cold, damp, sleepless nights) which meant that everyone is busy. Even the Doctor found things to tinker with, though she's fairly certain that it's because without any work he'd go mad. Unfortunately, there's not much on the sub that she's allowed to do – both the Doctor and the Professor treat her like she's china, insisting she doesn't want to work in the engine rooms or scrub the galley.

She sighs, the faint noise echoing off the metal walls. She's wandering around the lower decks, eyes scanning the signs that tell her where storage is, and where luggage is. She knows the bodies are down here somewhere, and the thought makes her shiver. It's not the most pleasant place to take a walk.

She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of footsteps on metal. "Hello?" she calls, voice the slightest bit strained. There's nothing on the sub that can hurt her, she reminds herself, but she can still feel a ghost of Skaldek's hands on her face.

The face of a friendly crew member appears around the corner ahead of her. "Hello, Miss Oswald!" he says, saluting cheekily at her.

Clara lets out a breath. "Oh, good. You startled me."

"It does get a bit spooky down here, doesn't it?" he agrees, joining her. His arms are full of boxes, labeled 'potatoes' and 'canned ham.' She wrinkles her nose, guessing that's what they're having for dinner.

"Yeah, it does." She agrees, falling into step alongside him. Maybe he'll let her help out in the galley, so she can ease her boredom.

He gives her an appraising look. "Still stuck in that dress, huh?"

"Yeah." She says. "Regretfully enough. The Doctor got it dry, but he couldn't get any of the spare clothes here to fit me."

"Ah, yes, the Doctor." He says, and she's slightly confused by his tone. He sound funny… almost jealous. "You two have got the same room, so I heard."

She nods absently. "Yeah. Silly Timelord, he tends to be overprotective." Not that she minds. The nights are easier with his double heartbeat in her ears.

The soldier shifts his heavy load in his arms. "So, you two…" the question hangs in the air, as thick as the dampness that seems to coat every surface.

"Oh, we're not… no, no, nothing like that. We travel together, that's all." Clara's been asked the same by others before, and every time she answers it with the usual; _he's just a friend, he's just taking me to see the stars. _It tends to evoke eye-rolls, though she isn't sure why.

The soldier stops suddenly, placing the boxes down with a groan and stretching his arms. "Awfully heavy for food that doesn't taste very good." He comments. "So he's not your boyfriend? Shame." Somehow she gets the sense that it's not a shame at all.

She leans against the wall. They're just outside the galley, but it's silent. "Yeah, I guess. He's an awful lot for one person to handle. You should see him when he gets into the sugar – I swear, he has jelly babies for breakfast."

"Nah, I don't think anyone would be too much for you to handle." The soldier says, taking a step closer.

Clara blinks, confused. "Sorry, what? You hitting on me, mate?"

"Well, I…" he shrugs, seemingly embarrassed. "I suppose you could say so. What's a man to do? You just walk into this sub, all glammed up with those huge doe eyes—"

"Hold it there." Clara says, turning red. "That's really sweet, and I know you mean well, but I really don't think—"

She yelps, finding her arms suddenly pinned to her sides. The soldier is almost leering at her. No, it's definitely a leer, and she's horribly uncomfortable with him that close. "Oi!" She squeaks.

"You don't like me?" he asks, voice a lot less sweet now that he's got her under his control. "I thought you wouldn't have a preference, dressed the way you were…"

She isn't sure if he's calling her a prostitute, but she resents it nevertheless. "Lay off!" she orders. "I just want to get to the North Pole, that's all. No strings attached, sorry. No, you know what? I'm not sorry. If this is how you behave when you don't get your way then I pity the woman who marries you."

He faces twists, expression morphing from a leer to a grimace. "Don't talk to me like that!" He shouts, forcefully pulling her from the wall and then slamming her back into it. Clara shrieks, the air knocked from her lungs. She opens her mouth to scream again and finds a huge, sweaty hand over it. "And don't shout, damn it! Shouting won't do you any good anyway, everyone's below working on the engines."

He presses into her fully, and despite his hand Clara's muffled sound of disgust is audible. She wriggles in his grip, slamming a knee upwards. She smirks when she hears him cry out in pain, and darts away from him. The stairs are just a few feet away, and she's sure that she can make it down to the engine room before he does. She did just incapacitate him, after all.

A hand snatches her ankle, and Clara screams again as she stumbles and lands on her knees. A sharp pain blooms in her left knee, and she instinctively curls her body away from her captor. "Don't think you can just get away from me like that." He snarls.

Clara isn't sure what's happening anymore; it's a blur of fear and pain as he climbs on top of her. She's screaming, briefly, until a sharp crack resounds in the room and she tastes blood. The soldier's hand covers her entire mouth, making it hard to breathe. He's grappling with the buttons of her coat, hiking up her dress—

And then he's gone.

Clara lays on the ground, shivering and looking around the room in confusion. There's an enormous noise, skin and bone hitting metal. Then she hears the Doctor shouting at the soldier. The pure rage behind his words can' be defined as shouting really, especially not when it's partially in a language where words seem to sear through Clara's skull.

The noise brings other men in, and someone tries to step between the soldier and the Doctor. Fearing that the worst will happen, in a hoarse voice Clara asks, "Doctor?"

He's at her side in an instant, of course he is. "Shhhh, Clara." He soothes, eyes scanning her body to assess the damage. "It's alright, I promise. I promise you, it's going to be alright."

He gently cradles her head in both hands, but when he looks as if he's about to pull her up into a sitting position, he withdraws like she's bitten him. "Clara, I'm not going to hurt you."

Clara squints at him, wondering why he's acting that way. Does he… does he really think she'd ever fear him? Her head lolls to the side as a wave of nausea and dizziness hits her, and she sees hr face reflected in the metal walls. Warped, with huge blank eyes and a bleeding mouth. She probably looks terrified to him.

"No, Doctor, it's okay." She manages, finding that words are hard to summon. She reaches out a bruised hand to him, offering her shaky fingers and clammy palm. He take sit at once, pressing sot kisses to her palm and the back of her hand, then to the tip of each digit.

"I'll help you sit up, okay?" he asks. She nods.

It hurts, a little, but after a few minutes of just sitting while the Doctor alternates between gently rubbing her back and kissing her forehead, Clara starts to get her bearings back. "M'okay."

"Come on, then." He tells her, guiding her to her feet. His voice is endlessly soft, so unlike the one he's used on the soldier. "You'll be fine, I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Right, so here's the second part I promised (mostly because I was tired when I started this fic, so I decided to split it into two parts. Yes, it's lazy. I know). Thank you so much for the reviews and reblogs of this! I was overwhelmed by how many people seemed to like this fic.**

Clara's legs are shaky, and her knee is throbbing, but she refuses to let the Doctor carry her. He's trying to keep a calm façade up, but his eyes are awash with emotions. Clara doesn't want to make him feel any worse.

She wants to slap herself when he reaches out to place a hand on her waist, guiding her into the medical bay, and she shies away. A mumbled, "Sorry," is all she can managed, face flushing. She hates that she let that… that _creep_ near her, that he touched her. She feels disgusting, and has the sudden desire to boil every inch of her skin.

The Doctor is as tense as her. "Just sit there." He orders, motioning towards a cot in the corner of the room. He bustles about, gathering up bandages and other things before pulling a stool over and sitting so he's facing her.

The muscles in his jaw are strained, making it clear that what he's about to say pains him. "Clara," he begins, placing a tentative hand on the edge of the cot, "I need to know how… how far he went."

"I don't… what do you mean?" Clara asks. She knows, deep inside, what he means, but she doesn't want to answer.

"I'm so sorry I have to ask, I really am." The Doctor rumples his hair, grimacing. "Clara, did he rape you?"

"Oh! Oh. No, he didn't."

He searches her face for a minute before settling back, seemingly satisfied with whatever answer her found there. "What happened?"

"We were just talking." Clara recalls how friendly the soldier had been right until she rejected him. "He hit on me, so I told him to back off. That's when he… he, um, he slammed me into the wall."

The Doctor's hands are bunched up tightly at his sides, and it's clear he's working very hard not to get up and find that soldier. "You weren't against a wall when I found you."

"I kicked him." Clara wonders if the small spark of pride in the Doctor's eyes is imagined or not. "He'd fallen over, so when I tried to run away he grabbed my leg and I fell over. I don't… I don't remember what else happened, just that he was on top of me and I couldn't hit him or kick him or—"

"Hey, hey, it's alright." the Doctor interrupts, and Clara realizes her face is damp. She sniffles, scrubbing her face with the sleeve of her jacket while the Doctor hold her hand.

"It's okay." She says, gulping and regaining her composure. "I'm okay, I'm okay."

"You can cry, if you need to." The Doctor says. His thumb gently rubs her palm, tracing nonsensical words in Gallifreyan.

"I don't want to." Clara tells him. She doesn't, especially if she's going to be stuck on this sub another few days with the man that tried to rape her. A frigid, deep fear is settling in her chest and she wants to fight it until it's trapped in a corner.

The Doctor abruptly drops her hand, rummaging through the gauze and medical tape that he'd set aside. "You're hurt." A careful, steady hand dabs at the blood from her split lip.

When he touches her battered knee, she hisses and draws back. A high-pitched, "Oh!" escapes her lips. That _hurt_, really hurt.

"Sorry, I went too fast." says the Doctor. He leans closer, eyes darting back and forth, rapid-fire. He briefly scans her injury with the sonic, and his expression darkens. "You've torn something, definitely a ligament."

"And that's bad?" Clara asks. "I'm not one for the doctoring stuff."

He sighs. "It's painful, mostly. I can fix it in minutes when we get to the TARDIS."

He gently wraps her knees, then attends to the small cuts and abrasions on her knuckles, arms, and legs. She feels a rush of overwhelming affection when he plants a chaste kiss on her knee, then her forehead. The feeling of disgust from earlier fades, until she just wants to curl up in his arms and cling to his silly purple jacket.

"I want…" Clara trails off, listlessly banging her heels against the cot's flimsy frame. Does she want to go back to their room? There's nothing to do. Better yet, now she can't even walk.

"You should sleep." He decides for her, resolute in the face of her pouting. "And I'll stay with you."

Thousand of taunts or jibes flash through Clara's mind; _you guarding me again, chin boy? _Except she doesn't say any of them, because she's genuinely scared. She's no idea where that solider is now, much less what he would do to her if he managed to find her alone again. So instead she says, "Thank you."

The Doctor lets her lean on him, since she steadfastly refuses to let him carry her. He makes sure the door to their cabin is secured, and then the two curl up on the tiny, uncomfortable bed. Clara's head is pillowed on his chest, the soothing double heartbeat lulling her to sleep. The Doctor watched her for any sign of discomfort as she sleeps, keeping his one arm tightly around her while she other plays with the ends of her hair.

The one time she cries out in her sleep he has her awake before her nightmare can fully set in. She cries into his jacket, delicate shoulders shaking while he tries his best to comfort her. Eventually the dreams fades from Clara's mind, and she falls into a dreamless sleep.

They make it safely to the TARDIS, and soon it's forgotten. There is one thing that both are grateful for; after the submarine, neither one of them sleeps alone.


End file.
